


Customs of Rohan

by shakespeareaddict



Series: No Living Man [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, F/M, Female Gimli, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship, Rohan, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareaddict/pseuds/shakespeareaddict
Summary: The Lady Eowyn is unhappy with her uncle's refusal to let her fight. While Gimli, Legolas, and Merry try to cheer her up, Legolas discovers something very shocking about his best friend.Related to "Braiding Lessons" but stands on its own. Has very little to do with the actual customs of Rohan.Warnings for a female character hiding her gender to avoid misogyny, lots of gender-flipped characters, and related stuff.





	Customs of Rohan

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:
> 
> First of all, my fancast for female Gimli is now officially Lauren Velez (http://notbecauseofvictories.tumblr.com/post/53794867578/lauren-v%C3%A9lez-as-gimli-daughter-of-gloina-member).
> 
> Second, there's a lot of mentions of the Company of the Thorin Oakenshield and certain members of the Company being alive/not male despite the canon. I plan on going into that in more detail later, with future fics (assuming I finish them).
> 
> Related to the above--Gloin, Gimli's parent, is non-binary in this AU. Gloin uses they/them pronouns and is called "Lasha" by their children, which is short for the gender-neutral Khuzdul word for parent, "lashar". Dwarven society is largely accepting of many gender presentations, but Gimli's being a little close-mouthed about that right now because not all Men and Elves are as understanding.
> 
> Third, major thanks to the Dwarrow Scholar for literally all Khuzdul I ever try to use. If you haven't heard of this guy or checked him out, do so now. You will not be disappointed.

It was nearly two hours past sunset, and Gimli had still not returned.

Of course Legolas was not worried for Gimli's safety—they were traveling with at least half the army of Rohan, what trouble could Gimli get into here?—but once camp was set up Gimli rarely strayed from the remains of the Fellowship for more than a handful of minutes at a time. He liked to stay with them when they were with a large group, especially as the sun went to bed and the stars awoke, and moreover he liked to warm himself by a fire of an evening, sometimes sharing a quiet pipe with the Hobbits and Men, sometimes singing softly to the flames in his rich, rumbling baritone. Tonight they had managed enough wood for a small fire just for their own, Gimli himself helping to start it, but Gimli was no longer there.

There must be a reason for it, and whatever the reason Legolas was certain Gimli was fine, of course—Gimli was always fine, and Legolas had looked terribly foolish the one time he doubted this fact—but there was no denying it was worrying poor little Merry. The loss of her kinsman Pippin had cut her deeply, and Gimli's long absence was not helping her state of mind. Yes, any worry Legolas felt must be for Meriada Brandybuck, who did not deserve any more distress after everything she had been through; Legolas was not worrying for Gimli himself. They were all perfectly safe, anyway.

The relief Legolas felt when he at last spied a broad, low figure striding towards their patch of grass was of course entirely for Merry's sake.

Legolas watched him as he wove his way deftly through the small knots of Men, sleeping or eating or talking round about their own small fires in their own small groups of kin and friends. The ever-changing light caught on the strands of red and gold in his great dark beard, glinting off the metal beads he wore in it, and his eyes gleamed like stars above the proud shadows cast by his wide strong nose. A cloaked and hooded Man trailed behind him, and every few feet Gimli would turn to them as if to make certain they were still following, or perhaps to make some comment or other. Legolas could not recognize them, only tell that the figure was too short to be Estel.

“Gimli!” Merry said when the strange duo at last stepped into their circle of firelight, leaping to her feet and rushing to embrace their Dwarf. “Where have you been?”

“Wandering here and there.” Gimli squeezed Merry once, then pulled away to turn to the cloaked figure lingering behind him. “Come now, my lady, the fire's warm and we're among friends,” he said, his voice soft and gentle.

And the lady Éowyn, of all people, sat down, pulling the hood back from her head.

Gimli bustled about, fetching a blanket from his bedroll and the supper Legolas and Merry had saved for his return, while Legolas watched the lady with interest and no little surprise. Éowyn's eyes were red-rimmed, her face particularly pale, and she curled into Gimli's blanket like a child seeking comfort.

“Something distresses you, my lady?” Legolas asked.

Merry and Gimli as one shot Legolas sharp looks as the lady Éowyn flinched, and Legolas, sheepish, felt his ears heat.

“I suppose my distress is written all over my face,” Éowyn said, soft enough she might have meant it only for the ears of Merry and Gimli, who were both settling in to sit by her. Her voice was thin on the cool evening air. “Please, Gimli, don't scold Legolas for asking. We are among friends, as you said.”

Legolas felt the need to say, “You need not answer—I would not have you uncomfortable.”

“It will be around the camp soon enough, if it is not already.” Éowyn tipped her head so that strands of her long hair, fallen free of their pins, formed a gauzy curtain about her face. “I went to speak tonight with my lord uncle, King Théoden. Gondor will have need of every able soldier, and once more I offered my sword to Rohan's service in the fight against the Shadow. My uncle....”

Legolas could well imagine Théoden-King's response from Éowyn's pause alone. He was not surprised to learn of it.

“King Théoden forbade you from fighting?” Merry asked, clearly aghast at the thought. “But if you already know how to use a sword....”

“I thought Hobbits were creatures of peace,” Legolas said with some surprise at the strength of little Merry's reaction.

“Oh, most of us might not know how to wield swords or ride horses or do any of those fancy tactical maneuvers you Big Folks are so fond of, but if a Hobbit learns how to fight and wants to join with the Bounders or the Shirrifs then there's no point in trying to stop them!” Merry said. “Just makes them better-suited for the job should any violent trespassers come along, if you ask me. We can't be relying on Rangers all the time.”

“Even if it were a lady Hobbit?” Gimli rummaged through his pockets as he spoke, thin brows drawn down in a familiar expression. Legolas stretched one arm out to grab Gimli's pipe from his pack and handed it over. Gimli's smile as he accepted the pipe, strangely enough, kept Legolas' ears hot.

Merry shrugged at that. “It's less common, but it happens. I think boys have more opportunities to learn, but once it's done it's done. Old Bella's mother was a Bounder for a while, before she went off on her first adventure and came back and married Bungo Baggins, and then she was an elected Shirrif of West Farthing until Bella was born. I think she was even deputized again during the Fell Winter. My aunt Marigold's a Shirrif now too, and Pip's sister Zinnia—”

Merry cut herself off abruptly, curling in on herself. Legolas watched, heart aching for the brave Hobbit.

Lady Éowyn, movements stiff and uncertain, lay her near arm across Merry's small shoulders and did not speak. For a long time the only sounds were the popping of the logs and the murmur of nearby Men, sleeping or waking, and further out the whinnying of the horses. Legolas could not hear the stars with so many people about, making noise, and even the wind seemed to whistle differently over Men than it did over grass.

When the silence grew too much Legolas cast about for something to speak of, and returned to the topic of Théoden-King's refusal to let his niece fight. “For your sake I wish your uncle would let you join the fight, but I understand his reasoning. The war grows ever more dangerous. If he should fall, and your brother Éomer as well, you would be the last of your line left to rule Rohan. Is it any wonder he wishes to keep you safe?”

“He has kept me safe too long,” said Éowyn sharply. The hand still clutching at Gimli's blanket went white-knuckled, and her eyes grew hard as ice in the firelight. “When he was under Wormtongue's spell he kept me in Meduseld like a pretty trinket locked away while my brother and cousin roamed the great grass sea, and I thought, at least he was not himself, and his rejection did not mean his opinion of me was truly so poor. When we fought at Helm's Deep he sent me to guard the women and children, and charged me with their safety, and I thought, at least this is a necessary place to hold, and we must have a last line of defense. Now he denies me my sword and my place in the van once more, with neither madness nor need as an excuse. I am a shield-maiden of the House of Eorl, and he will not let me fight!” She snarled at the last.

“But as the last of your House—”

“The fate of all free people now hangs in the balance, my friend,” Gimli interrupted in a puff of smoke. “The fate of Rohan in particular is immediately dire. Saruman is defeated, aye. But if Gondor falls then Rohan shall be the first place the Deceiver's armies shall march. By the time they reached Rohan a single extra soldier would not be enough to stem the tide. No,” and he shook his head, beard and braided hair swaying with the motion, “we have need of every able sword-arm to help defend Gondor. And so I cannot understand why Théoden-King would turn you away, my lady.”

Éowyn turned her face away, looking out across the plains of Rohan. Legolas followed her gaze, but there was nothing his eyes could see other than the camp and the swaying grasses beyond it. She did not answer Gimli.

Legolas tipped his head back, eyes seeking out the stars. The constellations were not all the same here, south of his beloved home, but many were still there—Wilwarin the butterfly half-risen in the east, and Carnil high and proud in the sky. They were old friends, comforting in their familiarity.

“My father the Elvenking will never let all three of his children out of the palace without a great number of guards,” he said. “He lost his father and his siblings, and my elder brother, in the Battle of Dagorlad. My sister Raweth was almost lost there as well. He will not risk leaving the Greenwood without an heir.”

“You have siblings, Master Legolas?” Merry said after a quiet moment. “I didn't know.”

Legolas smiled a little. “Two sisters, yes. Raweth is the eldest, our father's heir. Galeril is a healer and a scholar. She chafes the least at our father's restriction, and gladly takes to the palace's gardens when Raweth and I both wish to wander the forest.”

Gimli grunted next to him. “But if Galeril and Raweth both have duties outside of the palace, important duties, and you wish to go hunting but do not need to, your father will not hesitate to hold you until they have returned, yes?” His tongue shaped the Sindarin oddly, almost uncertainly, as if worried about mispronouncing the names. Legolas did not mind—even found his accent charming.

“Yes, of course. The needs of the kingdom outweigh our personal pleasures, as it should be.”

“Hm.” Gimli hummed in thought for a moment. “And your sisters, they are both trained in combat?”

Legolas turned his head to look at Gimli. “In what direction do these questions tend?” he asked.

“Answer them and you'll see, lad.” Gimli leaned over and bumped his shoulder into Legolas' arm. Gimli was a very tactile person, a fact that often caught Legolas by surprise. For a moment Legolas was distracted from the question by the touch, until Gimli repeated it.

“Of course we were all trained,” he said quickly, to cover his inattention. “Raweth is deadly with a longsword, and Galeril is skilled with the glaive, though she mostly relies on magic.”

“And if your father's realm was threatened with complete destruction, and his only recourse was to fight with all the warriors he could gather—if it hardly mattered who was left to defend the palace because if the enemy reached the palace his people were already doomed—would he not break his usual rule, and take all three of his children to fight, and never mind who rules if you all were to fall?”

“I do not know.” The question discomforted him. Legolas adjusted his position on the ground so he could lean back comfortably and watch the stars, not wanting to meet Gimli's eyes. He had had no news from east of the land of the Beornings since he crossed the Misty Mountains on his way to Rivendell; the question might no longer be an idle one. His father might have already had to make the choice between protecting his children and heirs, and protecting his kingdom with his greatest warriors.

“It is one thing to want to secure the future of your people by protecting your heirs—but sometimes, only by risking your heirs can you ensure your people _have_ a future.” Gimli shifted again next to Legolas, one great hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder. There was a familiar sadness in his voice. Gimli had been just as deprived of news from home as Legolas, of course. The fears which plagued Legolas also followed at Gimli's heels.

Legolas just wanted to curl up next to his friend and slip into Reverie, as if the worst of his worries would be gone with the morning dew. Legolas dared to lie down, to close his eyes and drift, not quite committing to his waking dreams but unwilling to think any further.

“The ways of Men are very strange to me,” Gimli said after a moment. His voice seemed to come from further away than it ought, but his thigh was pressing into Legolas' hip, grounding him, so Gimli could not be but near. “I know how Dwarves would act in the situation your uncle faces, lass, because I have seen it firsthand—or at least, how King Thorin acted, but I understood her reasons and still do, while I can't make ax nor pick of King Théoden's.”

“You speak of Thorin Oakenshield?” Legolas asked, though he knew the answer.

“Indeed. Some eighty years ago, you see, our people were living in the Blue Mountains because a dragon had taken roost in our home—Erebor, the Lonely Mountain,” Gimli began, mostly to Éowyn. “King Thorin had built us a good life, as good as she could make it, but we were slowly dying there. The mountains weren't meant to support so many Dwarves anymore. There were more accidents every year, and fewer births. If we had stayed....” Gimli stopped and perhaps shrugged or fiddled with his pipe.

“I thought all the dragons were dead,” said Lady Éowyn.

“With any luck they are now.” Gimli's voice was dark. “With any luck Smaug was the last of their foul breed living in Middle-Earth. King Thorin rounded up a Company to win back our home, and the worm was slain—by the hand of Bard the Bowman, who would be King of Dale.”

“Bard the Dragon-slayer.” The sound of skirts shifting on the grass came to Legolas clearly enough. “I'd heard of him. I always thought he was a long-dead hero from early in the Age.”

“Perhaps to Men he is; he died in '77. Not very long ago for Dwarves at all, and probably even less so for Elves. But I was speaking of King Thorin's Company.”

“All of old Bella's best stories were about the Company and the Quest,” Merry said.

“When the Company first set off, they didn't know the dragon would be killed. They didn't know they would get the Mountain back from the dragon. They didn't even know if they'd reach the Mountain before they all perished horribly on the journey.

“There were calls for Dwarves of skill to sign onto the Company. And two of the volunteers were the children of King Thorin's sister. Fíli and Kíli, children of the Lady Dís, Thorin's heirs. King Thorin—or their mother, the Lady Dís is not easily crossed—could have easily turned one or both of them away. But what would have been the point? If they went on the Quest, they might die. If they did not, the Company might fail, and then there would have been no hope for our people in the Blue Mountains. It would have saved no one if my cousins stayed in safety in the Blue Mountains.”

“Cousins?” asked Éowyn. Legolas came to attention as well, though he kept his eyes closed. He had not known Gimli was related to the King Under the Mountain.

“My Lasha Glóin and King Thorin were third cousins, raised together. I was always close to Fíli and Kíli. I stood with them at their weddings—I'm _imn'amad_ to their children.” Gimli laughed softly at some private thought of his own. Of course he shared it only a moment later; he was generous indeed. “I was so jealous when they were allowed to go on the Quest and I was kept home with _'amad_! I'm only fifteen years younger than Kíli, it seemed the worst thing in the world.”

“Only fifteen years younger? How old are you, Master Gimli?”

“I shall be one hundred and forty in a few weeks,” said Gimli, mirth coloring his voice. “Dwarves reach maturity at seventy-five.”

Éowyn laughed. “I shall be lucky if I  _live_ to seventy-five! And you, Mistress Merry? Are Hobbits so long-lived as Dwarves?”

“Not nearly,” Merry said with a touch of disdain. “Hobbits live to far more sensible ages than Dwarves and Elves, though Dwarves at least are a more reasonable size than Men and Elves. I'm thirty-five.”

Éowyn hummed. “A sensible age indeed.”

Legolas snorted and bit back any further laughter. It was a strange conversation to have indeed.

After a moment where the only sound was the popping of the fire, Lady Éowyn spoke again. “Master Gimli, what did those words mean? You said you are _im-amad_ to your cousins' children?”

“ _Imn'amad_ , yes. Name-mother. It is...hm. Like...it is like an aunt of choice. A dam committed to act the part of mother whenever needed. One who will protect and teach a child as they would their own.”

Name-mother.

Name- _mother_.

Dwarves called their leaders “king” without care for gender, Legolas knew this.

Legolas had never heard of Dwarves calling both their parents “mother”.

He sat up very quickly, his head spinning. Éowyn was openly gaping at Gimli; Merry, now tucked comfortably into the lady's side, snickered at the expression on her face. Gimli's eyes were twinkling in the fire-light.

“I _did_ tell you Men have trouble telling Dwarrow-dams and Dwarrow-dons apart,” Gimli said with evident good cheer. “Though of course we muddy the waters as well.”

Legolas remembered that conversation—on a long, desperate march to Helm's Deep, a Dwarf trying to cheer up a lady of Men and the children she guarded with humorous stories. And there was the braid, the snake-tail that wound from Gimli's left temple and disappeared into Gimli's great beard, the braid which Gimli had said only days ago “signifies I am a full-grown Dwarrow-dam”. Legolas had thought nothing of the unfamiliar word. He had only heard it once before, from the mouth of the Lady Galadriel as she spoke of Gimli, and he had not marked it then, either.

Clearly that had been the wrong decision. “Gimli,” he said through the tightness growing in his throat, “what does 'Dwarrow-dam' mean?”

Gimli's brow furrowed, Gimli's brilliant eyes piercing him. “You do not know the word?”

Mute, Legolas could only shake his head.

“It means—when I say I am a Dwarrow-dam, I mean I am not a Dwarrow-don or Dwarrow-deyn. I mean that I use the pronoun _dai_ when I think of myself—that if I am ever blessed with children I want them to call me 'mother'. That I introduce myself as 'daughter of Glóin'. What else would I mean when I call myself Dwarrow-dam?”

“You introduced yourself to my uncle differently,” Éowyn said, a touch wryly. It was just as well, as Legolas did not know what to say.

Gimli shrugged—shrugged _her_ broad shoulders and looked away from Legolas, casting her eyes to the side uncomfortably. “All Dwarves are 'he' outside a mountain,” Gimli recited, as if recalling some profound saying, but it did not make _sense_ to Legolas. “Even sometimes among strange Dwarves, it is safer to hide ourselves. My mother was not even 'mother' outside our family home until we made our way to Erebor at last. It was better that way—my Lasha was not so soft-spoken, and it did not always go well for them.”

Lady Éowyn let out a soft 'oh' of comprehension. “Of course. It's dangerous for women to travel, even in groups sometimes. If no one knows you are a woman....”

“Old Bella has a story about that,” Merry said with some fondness. “She went with Thorin Oakenshield's Company to help them reclaim Erebor, my lady. The first time she went to Rivendell, they all introduced themselves to Lord Elrond right before dinner, as you do with your host. So there they are, going down the line, and half the Dwarves who had no trouble introducing themselves as daughters or whatnot to Bella were suddenly calling themselves sons. Well, she didn't say anything about it, figured it for a weird Dwarf thing. Then they get to Bofur, who's right next to her, and Bofur introduced herself, as you'd expect, and then she said, 'And this is our Burglar, Master Baggins! He's a Hobbit!' Bella kept trying to correct them, but no one would let her get a word in edgewise until it was just the Company again. She laid into them for that, I tell you!”

Gimli huffed, almost a laugh. “My Lasha still remembers the tongue-lashing. It all might've been avoided if they'd told her beforehand, but no one thought to mention it.”

There was a part of Legolas that wanted to ask what Gimli meant by saying “Lasha”, who they were. A stronger part of him did not want to know—not tonight, when all was still tumbling about in his mind and he could not understand and Gimli had turned strange and unknowable in the night.

He kept tracing with his eyes Gimli's familiar features—that big broad nose, those full cheeks that rounded so pleasantly when Gimli smiled, the warm brown skin turned russet in the firelight like dusk fading over the trees in autumn, that magnificent beard—and searching for some sign of femininity.

But would he know what to look for in Dwarves? Among Elves it was second nature, a glance at eyebrows and ears and chins, and those Elves who chose to live differently from what the physical signs might point to were often drawn to less androgynous clothing and jewelry. Among Men it was simple—skirts and beards separated them out, and if he was mistaken or uncertain he could listen to the pronouns other Men called them by, and guess from there. Hobbits were confusing, but he had only met five of them in his long life. Dwarves—

He had spent the last eighty years negotiating with the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain in his father's place, meeting with King Thorin and the Lady Dís and the Princess (later King) Fíli the Golden, had sat in council with them, had reluctantly participated in feasts after negotiations were done with. In all that time he had never so much as suspected that Dwarves did not use their proper pronouns among outsiders—that the reason he never seemed to see any lady Dwarves outside the royal family was not because there were so few, but because they had pretended to be otherwise in his presence.

And Gimli had done the same. Gimli, his friend, had hidden herself from him.

Merry and Éowyn were still talking—saying something further of the many adventures of Belladonna Baggins, he supposed. Gimli darted a glance at him from under her thin brows, tapping out the last of her pipe into the fire. “You truly did not know, then, when I called myself a Dwarrow-dam,” she said quietly.

Legolas shook his head. He did not speak. He did not know what he might say.

Gimli nodded. “I did not dare come before the Council of Elrond as a daughter, not among so many strangers, and when it was time to form the Fellowship I did not wish to be left behind because of my gender. I did not know how Lord Elrond would respond, much less the Men, or the son of a king my family recall with no fondness.”

She sighed when he did not respond. “In Lothlorien, when you extended the hand of friendship to me—after you had dragged me from Moria so it would not be my tomb also, after I knew the whole of the Fellowship for good people, people I would be honored to call friends--I thought to tell you all. Sometimes in caravans, a Dwarf who has spent the journey as a don might reveal herself as a dam when she knows her fellow travelers are trustworthy. It is not that unusual among Dwarves. There are words for it, almost ritualistic. I only wanted to find the proper time to say it.”

“But you did not,” Legolas managed, biting down hard on his lip to prevent any other words from escaping. The shape of the whole situation was becoming clear before him, and he did not want to interrupt in case it froze and shattered.

“Aye, I did not,” Gimli agreed. “When I made this decision I began styling myself as a dam once more. I wove the snake-tail in my hair and beard again, and wore my mother's gloves, with the embossing—there are patterns to clothes which we consider gendered, and I wore them again.”

“Your belt changed,” Legolas said, “and the buckle.” Gimli had made a great fuss of going through her pack, worried the buckle had gotten lost, one afternoon in the soft sunlight of Caras Galadhon. Legolas had laughed at her then, thinking it some Dwarvish vanity.

Gimli touched the buckle in question. “The belt is reversible, neutral on one side, feminine on the other. The buckle means nothing—I only like this one better with the pattern.”

Legolas could not help his brief smile. Dwarvish vanity it was, then.

“So I changed my fashion, and looked for a time to tell you all,” Gimli continued. “But before I could decide how to do it, the Lady Galadriel came upon us one morning, and called me a Dwarrow-dam before the whole Fellowship. And then the Hobbits stopped trying to hide what they knew of me, and I thought that was the end of it.” Gimli shrugged helplessly. “I did not even think that you would not know what the word meant. Aragorn is well-traveled, and you handled many negotiations with the Mountain. I thought one of you at least would know, and tell the others.”

Of course the Hobbits knew—Gimli had known the Ring-Bearer long before the Council of Elrond, why would they not know?

“If you had known we did not understand what the Lady Galadriel meant—”

“I would have told you at once,” Gimli said, grabbing for his hand and squeezing briefly. “We are friends, Legolas, the very best of friends. I could not keep this from you. It would have felt wrong—it would have _been_ wrong. I am sorry I did not realize sooner, and tell you.”

Legolas was grateful for the dim lighting, which hopefully hid the warmth flooding his cheeks and ears. Of course he _knew_ they were friends, and of course Legolas himself did not think there was any who now knew him as well as Gimli, save perhaps his sisters, but to hear Gimli say it, to hear them declared _the very best of friends_ , was so pleasing he could not help his complexion.

The Lady Éowyn broke from her conversation with Merry at that moment, and touched Gimli gently on the shoulder. “Mistress Gimli? If I may?”

Gimli turned so she was facing the others more than Legolas. (He had not realized how close they had gotten while talking, it happened so naturally.) “Aye, lass?”

“You say it is normal for Dwarf women—for dams to travel as Dwarf men.”

“If the way is perilous, yes, many dams call themselves dons, and often when among strange Men and Elves, as well, lest they try to cheat us on prices. We are freer in Dale, but Dale is at the foot of Erebor.”

Éowyn leaned forward slightly. The lines of her body were taut and long. “What about within the mountain? When you are at home among Dwarves, do any dams ever say they are dons to strange Dwarves in the city, but go home as dams among their families?”

Gimli shook her head vigorously. “In the Blue Mountains to the West, when times were hard and the settlements unsafe, and many Dwarves driven to desperation, yes, there were those who did not feel safe walking openly as dams. But in Erebor itself? Never. It's a safe mountain, and there is honest work aplenty. There is no need. Perhaps in seedier taverns, where it is better to use a different name if you don't want trouble to follow you home, but in places like that honest dons are as likely to disguise themselves as dams to throw off criminals as the other way around.”

“And if a dam should want to join the city guard, or march with Erebor's armies?” asked Éowyn.

“Then they go to the recruiting officer and are tested for their fitness, same as any other Dwarf.” Gimli's great brow was furrowed in confusion; Legolas imagined he looked no less confused.

“But when they are asked to give their name, they do not introduce themselves as a 'son of' instead of 'daughter of'?”

“Why would they? That'd just confuse everyone.”

“Then no Dwarf father would refuse to let his daughter fight while allowing his son to ride into battle.”

Gimli's face cleared all at once. “If they were both of age, and both trained in combat—and nearly all Dwarves are trained in combat—then no Dwarf father would dare. We say the first Dwarrow-dam ever made, Mahal crafted after he lost an argument with his wife Kaminzabdûna, Queen of the Earth. With his ears still ringing and his nose still crooked he molded Motsognir from the rich dark earth of his wife's gardens and the purest mithril of his own halls, with dark citrines for eyes, and made her in Kaminzabdûna's image. Motsognir was Merry and bright and beautiful, and the few times she quarreled with Durin the Deathless she always emerged as the victor. All dams ever after were made with her blueprint close at hand, and the wise Dwarf keeps this in mind, for one never knows how closely a dam was made in her image.”

Legolas squirreled away the story for later thought—Gimli was the most close-mouthed with Dwarf legends, and hearing them even in part was a delight—while Gimli clasped Éowyn's hand and gently tipped her chin up. “I know little of your skill in war—I have not had the privilege of seeing you in battle—but I have seen you train, and I have heard you speak. My lady, you may not have been made in Kaminzabdûna's image, nor in Motsognir's, but you've a spine of steel nonetheless. It is an injustice that your uncle would not let you fight because you are the _Lady_ Éowyn and not a Lord. If you were born a Lord you would not be the Man you are, and that would be a damn shame indeed. I would be honored to fight by your side.”

Merry nodded firmly. “I still don't know much about fighting, but I think you ought to be allowed to go with your uncle. You're the only one who saw sense about Wormtongue who wasn't kicked out of the city—that's the kind of good judgment I think more armies need on their side.”

That made Éowyn laugh, though her cheeks looked wet and she ducked her head as if to avoid such praise. “You speak kindly, Mistress Hobbit.”

“And she speaks truly,” Legolas offered. “You have excellent form and excellent sense. Perhaps if your uncle were reminded of that by someone outside the situation—”

“I appreciate your words, Master Legolas, but my uncle will not change his mind.” Éowyn looked over her shoulder through the darkness, presumably in the direction of her uncle's tent. “He has decided what must happen, and no persuasion will sway him. And yet....”

The lady abruptly stood and gave them all a most graceful bow. “I am to ride back to Meduseld in the morning with a few other retainers. I intend to leave before dawn. Farewell, Master Legolas, Mistress Gimli, Mistress Merry—you have all done great services by my people and my uncle, and you have cheered me when I was most low in spirits. I will forever be grateful to you. I hope, some day, we might meet again, and I might repay you for your kindnesses.” Then, not waiting for any further response, the Lady of Rohan strode off into the darkness, drawing up her hood as she went.

“What d'you suppose she meant at the end, before she wandered off like that?” Merry asked after a moment of silence.

“Never you mind, lass. It's late and the column won't sleep in much longer than the lady's retainers, I'm sure,” Gimli said, but something about Gimli's smile belied her curt words.

Aragorn was nowhere near, but even so they settled down to sleep, Merry's bedroll between Legolas and Gimli as if they might shield her from any harm that might manage to sneak through the entire army of Rohan to get at the Hobbit. Over her curly head Legolas locked eyes with Gimli and smiled.

No doubt tomorrow the strangeness of it all would strike Legolas once more; no doubt it would take several days to reconcile Gimli's being a woman with what he had thought he knew; perhaps it might even change things between them for good. But tonight there was only the three of them, remnants of a scattered Fellowship comforting each other, guarding one another's backs. Tonight there were familiar stars in the sky, and Dwarvish and Hobbitish snores mingling in the spring air, and the smell of the crushed grass beneath his head. Tonight there was peace, and sleep, and that was all he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Raweth is Sindarin for "lionness", and Galeril is from "gala", "to grow", and "iaur" and "orn", which mean "ancient" and "tree". My intention was for Galeril to mean something like "the grower of the ancient tree", but I probably screwed up the Sindarin there.
> 
> Either way, the naming reference site I used for this is here: https://realelvish.net/naming/middleearthelves/
> 
> Also, thanks again to the Dwarrow Scholar (seriously, this guy is so cool: https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/) for the word "imn'amad" and the name Kaminzabduna, the Khuzdul name for Yavanna.


End file.
